


countin' on you to carry me through

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [33]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: It’s rows and rows of tapes, plastic glittering in the overhead lights. There’s long tables stretched out, lining the walls, and more in the middle. There’s big records with labels on them: ‘Rock’ and ‘Blues’ and ‘Country’ decorated with music notes. She tries to take it all in, the sound and the lights and the colors of the tape spines staring back up at her.“Pretty great, huh?” someone whispers in her ear.Nicole doesn’t turn to look at Mattie. “It’s…”“Like Christmas morning."





	countin' on you to carry me through

**Author's Note:**

> It's 1981 and Mattie's Music Forge is opening it's doors for the first time. Nicole and Wynonna are 10, Waverly is 8, and Curtis has all the best advice.

**“Drift Away” Dobie Gray, 1973  
** _ And when my mind is free, you know a melody can move me. And when I’m feelin’ blue, the guitar’s comin’ through to soothe me. Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul; I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. _

Nicole tries to skid to a stop on her Foiler, tearing up the grass as she runs off the sidewalk and onto the McCreadys’ lawn. She jumps off her bike and lets it fall, taking the porch steps two at a time. The screen door slams against the side of the house as she pulls it open, and she storms into the house, already yelling out an apology.

“Sorry, Gus!”

“You better be!” Gus shouts back.

Nicole takes the stairs in giant leaps, the top step catching her foot. She tumbles on the carpet and pops back up. Nothing is going to slow her down. Not today. Not on the most important day of her whole life.

Wynonna has the covers pulled up over her head when Nicole bursts into her bedroom, but Nicole doesn’t care. She launches herself onto the bed, ignoring the wounded yelp that echoes out from under the comforter.

“Wynonna!” she yells. She scrambles to find the top end of the comforter. She grabs it, and Wynonna hisses, trying to pull it back over her head. “Wynonna, get  _ up _ .”

“Get  _ bent _ ,” Wynonna groans. 

Nicole rolls around until her knees are on either side of Wynonna’s body. She pulls the comforter back down enough that she can see Wynonna’s face and pins it down with her elbows, hovering over Wynonna. “Wynonna,” she says slowly. “It’s  _ Forge Day _ .”

Wynonna’s eyes pop open. “Forge Day,” she whispers.

“Forge Day,” Nicole echoes. “So get  _ up _ .”

Wynonna brings her arms up, catching Nicole in the stomach. Nicole groans and rolls off to the side, slipping off the mattress before she can catch herself.

“You guys are so warped,” Waverly says from the doorway.

Nicole sits up, rubbing at her elbow where she knocked it against Wynonna’s nightstand. “Are not.”

“Are, too,” Waverly fires back. “Why’re you on the floor?”

“I fell,” Nicole says.

“Why’re you in my room?” Wynonna asks, throwing the comforter to the end of the bed. She gets up, but doesn’t reach down to pull the comforter back up, leaving the bed unmade. Nicole watches Waverly stare at it, almost like she wants to go over and make it herself. “Earth to Waverly? Come in, Waverly.”

Waverly blinks. “What?”

“What’re you doing in my room?” Wynonna asks, a little more impatiently. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Waverly looks down at her feet, her toes just barely breaking the line where the carpet changes color as the hallway turns into Wynonna’s room. She backs up a millimeter, looking up with a pout. “I’m not.”

Wynonna steps out of her pajama pants. Nicole looks away, using the edge of the nightstand to get up on her feet. Her elbow is throbbing, but she ignores it, straightening out her jeans instead. Her mom didn’t have time to iron them, so she put them under the heavy, leather-bound Encyclopedias her dad left behind and jumped on top of them - from book 1 to book 7 - until there was a crease in the denim. Waverly giggles, and Nicole looks up from her jeans, frowning.

“What?”

“Wynonna is wearing  _ Shazam _ Underoos,” Waverly says, still laughing.

Nicole looks at Wynonna, eyes widening. “Where did you get those?”

Wynonna shrugs. “John Henry.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “John Henry bought you Underoos?”

“ _ Bought _ them,” Wynonna repeats, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Sure he did.”

Waverly gasps. “Did he steal them?”

“Borrowed,” Wynonna corrects.

“You’re going to give them  _ back _ ?” Nicole asks. “That’s  _ grody _ .”

Wynonna sighs. “Fine. He stole them. Happy?”

Waverly shakes her head. “That’s breaking the law.”

Nicole puffs her chest out, hooking her thumbs through the loops on her belt like she’s seen Magnum P.I. do before. “You can’t break the law.”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a hoser.  _ I _ didn’t break the law. John Henry was just giving me a gift.”

“He gave you  _ Underoos _ .”

Wynonna shrugs a shoulder. “That’s what I wanted.” She pulls on a pair of jeans that she finds, half under the bed. Nicole winces; they’re wrinkled and dirty at the knee, and Nicole is pretty sure this is the same pair Wynonna wore last week when they helped Curtis dig up the backyard to trap the raccoon knocking over Gus’s trash cans. “Anyway, Wyatt taught him how, so he didn’t get caught or anything.”

_ Wyatt Aper _ , John Henry’s hero. Nicole rolls her eyes. It figures he would do whatever Wyatt taught him to do. He’s the one who started calling John Henry ‘Doc’,  _ after my favorite storybook character, _ he said.  _ You guys have the same name, you know _ . John Henry is too nice for Wyatt Aper. Wyatt is a few grades ahead of them, almost in high school, and his older brother Virgil is in charge of the Blue Devils. Nicole doesn’t know much about them, but they all ride around town together on their bicycles and they have cool blue bandanas. And they  _ hate _ the Revenants. 

Nicole doesn’t like them either, really. Jonas Adamson likes to hang around them, and she doesn’t like Jonas Adamson. He’s friends with Jimmy Byers, and Jimmy isn’t nice to Nathan. Plus, Jimmy and Jonas once took the chain off Nicole’s bike, and she had to have John Henry put it back on again before her dad found out. 

“Where’re you guys going?” Waverly asks. “Can I come?”

_ Yes _ , Nicole thinks. She frowns at the thought as it bounces around her head.

“No,” Wynonna says firmly. “Me and Nicole only.”

Waverly narrows her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I said so,” Wynonna fires back. She lifts the collar of her sleep shirt, an old Foreigner shirt that probably belongs to Curtis, and sniffs it. She wrinkles her nose, but shrugs.

“That’s not fair,” Waverly says, her hands on her hips.

Wynonna shrugs again. “So what?”

“So let me come with you.”

Wynonna laughs and throws an arm around Nicole’s shoulders. “You’re a  _ baby _ . And babies aren’t allowed. Right, Nicole?”

_ Wrong, _ Nicole thinks.

“Uh, I guess so,” she says out loud. 

“See?” Wynonna asks. “Even Nicole doesn’t want you there.”

“That’s not what I said. I said-”

Wynonna cuts her off, pushing her over the threshold. Nicole bounces off of Waverly, knocking her back into the wall accidentally. “Maybe next time,” Wynonna calls over her shoulder, still nudging Nicole down the hall towards the stairs.

“Really?” Waverly asks, her voice high and hopeful.

“No way!” Wynonna shouts. She throws her head back as she laughs. She jumps down the stairs with both feet, using the rail for balance, and grins back up at Nicole. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Nicole admits. 

She could barely sleep last night, thinking about this morning. She was up before her mom, reading old issues of  _ Rolling Stone _ and writing down the words she didn’t know how to say. She’ll bring them to school and ask her teacher.  _ Or maybe Waverly will know them _ , she thinks. She had snuck into Nathan’s room and stole one of his white shirts so she could wear it under the flannel shirt Gus and Curtis got her for her birthday. She had been dressed even before her mom turned on the coffee pot.

Her leg bounced under the table during breakfast, and Nathan kept glaring at her through sleepy eyes. Her mom wanted to check her temperature, but Nicole pushed her away and stuck her tongue out at Nathan when he laughed. 

“ _ I’m fine _ ,” she had hissed.

Her mom frowned at her. Nathan rolled his eyes.

Curtis had told them the news on Monday: the last blacksmith hammer had been welded to the top of a snare drum on the metal logo outside of the new storefront on Main Street, and Mattie’s Music Forge would be open on Saturday.  “Rows and rows of tapes,” he promised them. “If you think  _ I _ like music, wait until you meet Mattie.”

Nicole had been nervous all week, her palms sweating in the middle of the day for no reason. She was so distracted that she let Waverly bedazzle the front pocket of her backpack and the sleeve of her 1975 Queen Tour shirt. Her dad had rows and rows of tapes. He took most of them when he moved to the States to live with Susan, but he left a few behind on the stereo in their living room, and Nicole had alphabetized them carefully, first by artist and then by album. There was another box of them, under her bed, but she hasn’t opened those yet.

Her dad had stood there, his suitcases in the driveway and her mom crying in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he told her. “Someday, when you’re older, you’ll understand.”

“I’m old enough,” she told him. 

He ignored her and looked around the living room, a few boxes with his handwriting on them.  _ Kitchen _ ,  _ bath _ \- all the rooms in his new house with his new family. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You like music, don’t you?” he asked. He picked up a shoebox, Iron Ranger Red Wing Heritage Shoes on the side. “Here. Hold onto these. I don’t remember what’s in it, but there might be something you like.”

She’d shoved the box under her bed and left it there, waiting.

_ If she opens them, he has no reason to come back _ , she thinks to herself some nights when she can’t sleep. She pulls the box out and thumbs the corner of the lid, but she never lifts it. She knows what he said last Christmas; he’s never coming back. But he also said he’d never leave them, and he broke  _ that _ promise.  _ So maybe _ , she thinks.  _ Maybe _ …

Curtis grins widely at them, sitting at the head of the table in the kitchen. He folds his newspaper over and puts it down. “You girls ready?”

“No,” Nicole repeats. 

“Hell yeah,” Wynonna says.

“Language,” Gus says sharply. She lifts the spatula in her hand and points it at Nicole. “What have I said about slamming doors in this house?”

Nicole hangs her head. “That we’re not cavepeople.”

Gus nods.

“Even though Wynonna smells like one,” Nicole mutters, smirking at Wynonna.

Wynonna shoves her shoulder and sits down, picking a piece of toast off of Curtis’s plate. She takes a big bite and chews it noisily. “Can I have some of that?” she asks, pointing at Curtis’s coffee mug. It’s his plaid one.

“Sure,” Curtis says, smiling.

“Absolutely not,” Gus says just as quickly. She smacks Curtis’s shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Curtis catches Gus’s hand. “I’m  _ your _ idiot,” he sings. He kisses the middle of Gus’s palm and smiles softly at her. 

Nicole watches in wonder as Gus softens. Her eyes sparkle and her smile stretches across her face and all the lines on her forehead smooth out. There’s a song her mom used to listen to before her dad left, “The Look of Love,” and if Nicole concentrates hard enough, she thinks she can hear it playing. 

Wynonna burps and Gus sighs. 

Curtis snorts and lets go of Gus’s hand, grabbing her by the arm instead and pulling her down for a kiss. Nicole looks down at the tabletop, her cheeks burning. She only looks back up when a plate of pancakes slides in front of her. Gus rolls her eyes and nods at the plate, and Nicole digs in, cutting a pancake with her fork.

“S’ good,” she says through a mouthful.

“Chew,” Gus commands.

It takes a minute, but Nicole chews and swallows, washing the pancake down with a sip of milk. “It’s good.”

“It’s Saturday pancakes,” Curtis says simply. He lifts his coffee cup to his lips, but puts it down before he takes a sip. “You girls finish up breakfast and then we’ll head out.”

That same nervous energy ripples through Nicole’s stomach. She picks at the other half of her pancake, but she’s not sure she can eat it now. Wynonna kicks her under the table and nods in the direction of the pancake, her own plate already empty. Nicole sighs and pushes her plate forward. Wynonna grabs the pancake and shoves the whole thing into her mouth. 

Curtis laughs and Gus huffs. 

“Manners,” Gus mutters.

“I’m lawless,” Wynonna says, her mouth full.

“Where did you hear that?” Curtis asks, his hands steepled on the table in front of him.

Wynonna swallows. “John Henry and I were-”

“That Holliday boy?” Gus interrupts.

Wynonna’s eyes flash and Nicole kicks her under the table, catching her in the shin. She shakes her head sharply.  _ Don’t start with her _ , she tries to tell Wynonna. Wynonna opens her mouth, but snaps it closed, staring at her empty plate moodily. 

Curtis puts his mug down on the table, the sound of ceramic against wood a sharp, hollow  _ snap _ . “Why don’t you girls go get in the truck? Nicole, make sure you put that bicycle on the side of the house with the girls’. David Doucette is coming by to mow the lawn today.” He rests his hand on Nicole’s shoulder as he talks, squeezing gently. “Good work,” he whispers to her when Gus turns back to the stove and Wynonna stomps out of the kitchen.

“I’m using my powers for good,” she whispers back.

He winks at her. “Wynonna-taming is a hard job.”

“I’m up for it,” Nicole says, puffing out her chest.

Curtis smiles and puts his hand on her head, ruffling her hair. “I know you are, girl.”

Nicole pushes back from the table, her chair scraping noisily against the floor, and follows after Wynonna. She looks back over her shoulder and stops; Curtis has his arms around Gus and they’re swaying back and forth.

“What’re you doing?”

Nicole jumps, tripping over the small table near the front door. “Holy  _ He-Man _ ,” she hisses.

Waverly frowns. “What’re you doing?” she repeats.

“Nothing,” Nicole breathes. “Going outside.”

“Well, you’re either going outside or doing nothing. But it can’t be both.”

Nicole frowns, tipping her head to the side. “Why can’t it be?”

Waverly shrugs. “It just can’t.”

Nicole opens her mouth to argue back, but she closes it again and shrugs her shoulders. Waverly is only eight, two whole years younger than her, but she’s smarter than anyone else in Nicole’s grade.  _ She’s smarter than Nathan _ , Nicole thinks. Even though that’s not hard. He’s kind of a hoser.

Waverly looks past her, down the hall, and sighs. “They’re so romantic.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “Ro-what?”

“Ro-man-tic,” Waverly sounds out. “You know. Like…  _ Lady and the Tramp _ .”

“But Curtis doesn’t like spaghetti,” Nicole says slowly. 

Waverly sighs, the same sigh Gus has when she’s talking to Wynonna. It’s heavy and deep, and there’s frustration at the end of it. Nicole can almost hear the words that Gus usually says when she sighs like that:  _ I just don’t understand why you can’t listen to me _ .

“Romantic,” Waverly repeats. “They’re, like, in  _ love _ .”

“Oh,” Nicole says. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I-” Waverly’s shoulders slump and she rolls her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly glaring. “I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

“For what?” Nicole looks out through the screen door. Her bicycle isn’t on the front lawn anymore, which means that Wynonna probably put it on the side of the house.

Waverly stomps her foot, catching Nicole’s attention. “For not letting me come with you.”

Nicole sighs. “Waverly-”

Waverly scowls. “Don’t ‘Waverly’ me. I’m not a baby.”

“Yes, you are,” Wynonna says, her face pressed against the screen door. She looks at Nicole. “Come on, hoser. Maybe Curtis will let us ride in the bed.”

Nicole pushes the screen door open, sparing a look over her shoulder at Waverly. Her stomach flops unexpectedly. Waverly is standing there, her scowl gone and her eyes  _ sad _ , watching them through the screen door as they topple down the steps onto the lawn. Wynonna grabs her arm, hard, and Nicole pushes at her, tripping on the sidewalk before she rights herself.

“That’s against the law,” Nicole says as Wynonna starts to climb the tire, gripping the rail to climb into the bed of the truck. 

“Up front,” Curtis calls as he comes out of the house. “Can’t have Sheriff Nedley pulling me over.”

_ Sheriff Nedley _ , Nicole repeats in her head. He’s Chrissy’s dad, which is kind of weird. She never thought about him being someone’s dad before. He came to their school a few years ago, to do a presentation on being a Sheriff’s Deputy, and he let Nicole hold his posterboard while he talked. He had a shiny badge and a duty belt, and when he talked, his words echoed in Nicole’s chest like a good thunderstorm. He’d winked at her when he left and handed her his business card. She tacked it on her bulletin board in her room, right next to her picture of Alyssa Milano.

She thinks he’s  _ the tits _ . 

But she’ll never tell Wynonna that.

“The Sheriff is a hoser,” Wynonna mutters.

Nicole frowns. “No, he’s not.”

“He rounded up all of the Blue Devils and gave them a ‘talking to’ about their behavior,” Wynonna reminds her.

_ That _ makes him sound like a dad.

“Those Blue Devils are bad news,” Curtis says as she opens the driver’s door. He steps back to let Wynonna and Nicole slide into the truck.

“No, they’re not,” Wynonna says defensively. “Virgil Aper is-”

“Too old for you to be knowing,” Curtis says. “I don’t care if he is the older brother of Wyatt, and if Wyatt is John Henry’s personal hero, and if you’re gooey eyes for John Henry.”

“I’m not-”

“But Virgil Aper,” Curtis continues over her. “Is practically a grown man leading a group of boys around like he’s Robin Hood.”

Nicole settles into the middle seat, staring at the tape deck on the dashboard. Curtis usually lets them pick the tapes, but she’s not sure she can today. It’s a short drive to Main Street, but she’d probably spend the whole time deciding between The Eagles and Supertramp.

“What if someone had the Blue Devils use their powers for good?” she asks, frowning as the thought bubbles up into her mouth.

Curtis blinks at her. “What?”

Nicole pauses. “It’s okay to use your powers if you’re using them for good, right? He-Man and Superman, they both use them for  _ good _ reasons, so they’re okay. But, like, Skeletor and Brainiac have powers, and they use them for bad reasons, which makes them… bad. Right?”

Curtis stares at her for a moment longer before a slow smile stretches across his face. “I’d say that’s right.”

Nicole nods. “So they just need someone who can use their powers for good. That’s all.”

Wynonna slumps down against the passenger seat and rolls her eyes. “ _ Lame _ ,” she sings.

“That’s a good idea, girl,” Curtis says. He pats her on the knee. “If the Blue Devils, and those Revenants they’re so fond of picking fights with, fell under the leadership of someone kind-hearted, someone who could make them more into a group of crusaders, well... They might be worth something.”

“Cru-sade-ers,” Nicole sounds out. “What’s that mean?”

“It means  _ lame-o _ ,” Wynonna says.

“It means,” Curtis says, shaking his head at Wynonna as he puts the truck in reverse and slowly backs down the driveway. “It means someone who works hard to make people’s lives better.”

“Like Sheriff Nedley?”

Curtis smiles widely. “Like Sheriff Nedley.” They pass an Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser, hauling a small trailer behind it with a Toro Lawn Tractor on it. Curtis lifts a hand, waving at the man behind the wheel. “You move that bike?” he asks.

Nicole nods. “Wynonna did it.”

“David’s a good guy, but he forgets the little things sometimes,” Curtis says. He turns the wheel with one hand, the other arm hanging out of the window. Nicole studies the way his wrist rests on the top of the steering wheel; how he leans back against the vinyl seats; how he taps the side of the truck with his fingers to the beat of the tires hitting the potholes that litter the streets of Purgatory. Nicole usually hates them, but she’s never noticed how they make the perfect bass noise.

She tries to slouch like he does, but her knee goes into the radio dial and it comes to life, the disc jockey’s voice loud and startling. Wynonna jumps, turning to scowl at Nicole.

“I’m trying to  _ cleanse _ my ears.”

“Cleanse your ears,” Nicole repeats.

Curtis laughs, a big deep rumble that Nicole feels in her arm and through her body. He looks down at her and meets her eye, winking and swaying into her side.

She’s seen her dad do that with Nathan - a baseball game where Nathan caught the last out, clinching the win. Her dad had carried Nathan’s bag over one shoulder, laughing with another dad, and reached out for Nathan, swaying into his side and running a hand over his head proudly. It sets something inside Nicole’s chest on fire, and she grins widely, leaning back into Curtis. 

Curtis drives past The Patch, open and slowing down as the early morning crowd trickles out. Curtis has already been there this morning, but he leaves Bobo in charge sometimes, on special occasions.

_ And this is a special occasion _ , Nicole thinks. 

He pulls up in front of Mattie’s Music Forge and puts the truck in park, turning the engine off to cool. He rests his big hands on the steering wheel, tapping out a tune Nicole can’t quite catch as he leans forward to squint through the windshield. Nicole follows his eyes, looking up in wonder at the large metal sign that sticks out from the side of the building, hanging over the sidewalk.

“Mattie made that herself, you know,” Curtis tells them. “She’s a metalworker, but music is her first love.”

Wynonna gets out of the truck impatiently, slamming the heavy door behind her. 

“She’s one of us,” Curtis says to Nicole, still looking at the storefront. There’s big posters in the window and a neon sign that flashes ‘open’ every other second. “Music means everything to us.”

“Us?” Nicole repeats.

Curtis looks down at her again. “Us,” he says firmly. “You have it in you, girl. I can see it.”

Nicole feels her body leaning forward. “What do I have?” she asks quietly.

“A love for music,” Curtis says in a whisper. “A love for how it moves us, how it changes everything.”

Nicole tries not to be disappointed. “But I barely know any songs or anything.”

“Yet,” Curtis says quickly. “You’re young. I didn’t fall in love with my first song until I was just a little older than you are now.” His mouth curls up in a soft smile, and he looks past her, at something Nicole can’t see. “I remember my parents had a 1946 Ever Ready Table Model radio and we’d tune in on Friday nights to listen, after dinner was done and the dishes were put away. A few of my friends were outside on their bicycles, calling through the door, and I begged my parents to let me go. They did, and I went outside to get on my bicycle, but it was cool out. I remember I ran back inside to get my jacket and I could hear the radio on.”

Nicole tries to breathe in and out quietly so she doesn’t interrupt him.

“My father was a quiet man. Stern. A lot like Gus, I guess you could say.” He winked at her. “But my mother was always laughing, needling my father until he cracked a smile. She used to tell him not to frown so much, or his face would freeze that way. But the radio was on, and Jimmy Dorsey - my mother’s name was Maria. And Jimmy Dorsey was signing ‘Maria Elena’ while his orchestra played behind him, and my father was grinning like a madman, spinning my mother around in circles and singing along.”

Curtis takes a deep breath, blinking. “That’s when I fell in love with music.”

Nicole feels her shoulders sag. “I’ll never get that,” she grumbles, thinking of her dad living in the States with someone else.

“You might not get that moment,” Curtis says gently. “But that’s okay, because it’s mine. You’ll find your own.”

“When?” Nicole whines.

Curtis opens his mouth, but the driver’s door opens suddenly and Wynonna is standing there with her hands on her hips, glaring.

“Are you guys coming in, or what?” Wynonna huffs.

Nicole scowls back at her, but Curtis heaves a dramatic sigh and slides out of the truck, ruffling the top of Wynonna’s head as he steps by her. Nicole jumps out after him and pushes the door shut, her whole body leaning into it.

“Let’s go change your life,” Curtis says, clapping a hand down on each of their shoulders. 

He pushes them in front of him, walking them towards the front door. The glass is so shiny, no grimy fingerprints or streaks of window cleaner like the ones Wynonna leaves behind when Gus makes her wash the front windows. Nicole pulls the door open, and it’s easy, new hinges barely creaking. There’s soft music playing above them and the neon lights humming in the window. Nicole hears the crack of a soda pull tab and the soft fizz of the carbonation inside the can.

“My first customers,” a woman says from behind a long glass counter. “Should have known it would be you, Curtis McCready.” She smiles widely.

Curtis lifts a hand off Nicole’s shoulder, waving hello. “Did you really think I would pass up a chance to come inside on opening day? You must not know me, Mattie Perley.”

Mattie leans forward on the counter, resting her chin in her hands. Her hair is long, but straight, and it hangs down over her shoulders. She flips it back out of her eyes. “Oh, I know you, Curtis.”

Curtis laughs and wags his finger at Mattie. “You think so, do you?”

“You brought guests, too.”

Nicole feels herself standing a little taller as Mattie’s eyes sweep over her. Wynonna slouches next to her, arms crossed over her chest. She’s got that face on, the one she wears at school when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone and she wants them to know it. Nicole opens her mouth to tell Mattie what that face means, to interpret for Wynonna like she does at lunch and in class, but Wynonna beats her to it.

“You know he’s married,” Wynonna snaps, eyes narrowed. “To my Aunt Gus.”

Mattie snorts softly. “I was at their wedding, little girl.” She leans forward more, nearly hanging off the edge of the counter. “And besides, Curtis isn’t all he’s cracked up to be.”

Curtis claps a hand over his chest, right where his heart is, wincing. “I gave you the best year of my life.”

Mattie rolls her eyes. “1961 was the best year of no one’s life.”

Wynonna looks between the two of them slowly. “You dated?

The tops of Curtis’s ears go red. “Freshman year of high school.”

“Just the year,” Mattie says quickly. “And barely that.”

“Why?” Wynonna asks stonily.

Mattie looks at Curtis and lifts an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling up. “Let’s just say that dating Curtis made me realize I’m not exactly looking for someone with so much… facial hair,” she finishes after a long pause.

Wynonna frowns. “But Curtis doesn’t have any.”

“Neither did Bethany, my next relationship,” Mattie fires back.

Nicole frowns, her mind trying to work around a boy named Bethany before it sinks in and then the back of her neck burns red, her hands sweating. 

“And anyway,” Mattie continues. “Curtis met Gus, and that was it. A hundred men or more couldn’t have dragged him away from her. They were  _ always _ together.”

Wynonna’s eyes soften. “They’re  _ always _ macking on each other.”

Mattie wrinkles her nose. “Gross, right?”

“Totally grody,” Wynonna agrees. She squints at Mattie before nodding sharply, offering her approval, and stepping back from the counter.

Nicole catches Mattie’s eye and looks away when she winks, her cheeks hot. 

“I got money to spend,” Wynonna sings. She grabs for Nicole’s arm, tugging hard. “Come on, come on.”

Nicole looks at Curtis for permission, her dad’s voice in her head echoing over the soft song on the speaker.  _ Be polite, be considerate, and always ask before you do something _ , he’d said firmly as he marched in front of them before they got in the car to go to his mother’s house. Nicole had picked at her dress and fidgeted uncomfortably. 

Curtis nods in the direction of the rest of the shop. “Why don’t you girls go have a look.”

Nicole doesn’t wait for him to change his mind. She lets Wynonna turn her around, and she pauses, her arm sliding out of Wynonna’s grip.

It’s rows and rows of tapes, plastic glittering in the overhead lights. There’s long tables stretched out, lining the walls, and more in the middle. There’s big records with labels on them: ‘Rock’ and ‘Blues’ and ‘Country’ decorated with music notes. She tries to take it all in, the sound and the lights and the colors of the tape spines staring back up at her. 

“Pretty great, huh?” someone whispers in her ear.

Nicole doesn’t turn to look at Mattie. “It’s…”

“Like Christmas morning, before your parents turn on the lamps and the tree is lit up and that bicycle you wanted is under the tree,” Mattie finishes. She inhales deeply. “And it smells like the plastics factory in Edmonton, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. It’s my dream.”

Nicole puts her hands on her hips. “I wanna be a cop.”

Mattie nods slowly. “That’s a good dream, too.” She looks around the shop again and nods towards the tables. “Pick a song,” Mattie offers. “I’ll put something on.” She gestures to the big stereo system behind her, wires running up the wall and around the room, connected to large speakers in each corner. “Anything you want.”

“Oh, ‘My Wynonna’,” Nicole says quickly. Her cheeks flush. “I mean, ‘My Sharona’ by-”

“The Knacks,” Mattie finishes. She looks Nicole up and down. “Good choice, kid.”

Nicole straightens up a little. “I’m not a kid.”

“When you’re my age, everyone is a kid,” Mattie says. She rounds the counter and scans the tabletops, stopping in front a row of tapes. She trails her finger over the plastic casings, pursing her lips. “Ah ha,” she cheers softly, plucking  _ Get The Knack _ out of row. She winks at Nicole and goes back behind the counter, popping the tape into the deck and pressing ‘play.’

“My Sharona” comes on through the speakers, and Nicole feels like she’s standing in the middle of the world’s biggest concert, the noise coming at her from all directions. Her mouth drops open and her eyes widen and she holds her breath, afraid to exhale and break the spell.

Wynonna groans loudly and shouts the word ‘no’ over the tom-tom drum.

Nicole grins widely and sings along, ignoring Wynonna marching up to the counter to complain.

She walks up and down the rows of tables slowly, mapping out the whole store before she dives in and picks out a tape. The money her mom gave her for helping clean the garage is burning in her pocket, and her hands itch to touch all the clear, clean plastic cases. There’s a ‘Rock’ section and a ‘Blues’ section and giant posters like the ones she’s seen in the mall hanging up on every wall. The speakers pulse like they have a heartbeat, and Nicole can feel the bass in her stomach, rumbling along.

This is the  _ coolest _ place she’s ever been.

She moves around the tables and tries to read the title of each tape, to pick out the perfect one. She wants the right one, for her first time. Maybe one with a song she already knows, so if the rest of the album isn’t good at least one part of it will be. She goes through the A’s section of ‘Rock’ before her eyes keep straying to a table on her left.

“What’s glam rock?” she asks out loud.

Wynonna pops up over her shoulder. “I don’t know.”

She repeats the words over,  _ glam rock _ . They feel funny in her mouth, like something that doesn’t fit right. She reads some of the titles in the section, frowning at the band names. She recognizes David Bowie, but not  _ Ziggy Stardust _ , so she turns back to the table she’s standing in front of and her eyes widen.

Boston. Boston’s  _ Don’t Look Back _ .

“Do you have this one?” Wynonna asks, stepping in front of her. She’s holding up Rush’s  _ Permanent Waves _ .

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t have any besides  _ Get The Knack _ that’re  _ mine _ ,” she says.

Wynonna frowns. “What about that box your dad gave you? Is it in there?”

“I don’t know,” Nicole hisses. She toes at the floor. “I haven’t opened it.”

Wynonna’s frown deepens and she tips her head to the side. “Why not? There’s tapes in there.”

Nicole’s head snaps up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But-”

“No,” Nicole says firmly. 

“Okay,” Wynonna says softly. “Okay. We won’t talk about it.” She puts  _ Permanent Waves _ back. “It’s a crappy tape anyway. John Henry has it, and he doesn’t like it.”

“John Henry wears a cowboy hat,” Nicole says, her voice flat. She’s still kicking at the floor, the top of her sneaker scratching against it. “Why’re we listening to him?”

Wynonna reaches out for her. “Don’t be mad at me.”

Nicole sighs and twists away from Wynonna’s hand. “I’m not,” she says sharply. She tries again. “I’m not. I’m mad at my-”

“Dad,” Wynonna finishes. “I know.” She shoves her hand in her pocket and looks around, wrinkling her nose. “We can stop by Shorty’s and take the wheels off Champ’s bicycle, if you want.” She squints at Nicole. “Would that cheer you up?”

Nicole snorts despite herself. “How would we do that? I don’t have a wrench with me. Do you?”

Wynonna frowns. “No. But maybe we should start carrying one.” She sighs. “What about honey? We can get a bottle of it at the pharmacy and put it all over his handlebars.”

“The pharmacy?” Nicole asks.

Wynonna shrugs. “Curtis said the old ladies in town think honey and warm milk cures everything.”

Nicole shudders. “Warm milk.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Wynonna hisses. “Grody.”

“You girls pick a tape?” Curtis asks loudly.

Nicole jumps, kicking a leg out against the table leg holding up the ‘Rock’ tapes. She grabs for  _ Don’t Look Back _ , picking it up and holding it out in front of her.  _ Get The Knack _ was her first real tape, but  _ Don’t Look Back _ will be her second. 

_ Music means something _ , Curtis is always telling her. 

“ _ Don't look back. A new day is breakin'. It's been too long since I felt this way _ ,” she can hear. She can almost see the back tail lights of her dad’s car as it drives away.

Curtis snaps his fingers and Nicole blinks, startled.

“I want this one,” she says quickly, pulling her money out of her pocket and handing it to Mattie carefully, afraid to drop a single bill.

“What about you?” Curtis asks Wynonna.

Wynonna holds up a tape Nicole didn’t see.

Curtis immediately shakes his head. “No.”

“Please,” Wynonna says, pushing out her lower lip. “I’ll keep it in the truck, and I’ll never sing the songs in front of Gus.”

“Yes, you will,” Curtis points out. “You said the same thing about  _ Bad Company, _ and I caught you using your toothbrush like a microphone.  _ And _ singing in the shower.  _ And _ during breakfast.”

Wynonna pushes her lip out further, tipping her head down to look up at Curtis through her eyelashes. Nicole snorts; that’s the same look she tries to use when she wants Nicole to do something for her, or when Gus starts to holler at them. It doesn’t work on anyone but Curtis, and Nicole sighs as he folds like the card tables at County Fair.

Nicole leans against the counter, watching Curtis and Wynonna go back and forth as they make up rules. She sighs longingly at the cold can of Orange Crush Mattie has on the counter next to the register.

“You like Crush?” Mattie asks.

“It’s my favorite.” Nicole smiles. “I like the way it tickles my nose. But I don’t like oranges. They don’t-”

“Taste the same,” Mattie finishes. She smiles widely. “You know, I think we’re going to get along fine.” Her eyes stray to Wynonna, and Nicole snorts.

“She’s not so bad once you get used to her,” Nicole says.  _ And she’s talking to you _ , she thinks. Wynonna doesn’t even talk to her teachers, but there’s something about this place that makes Nicole feel good; she’s sure it makes Wynonna feel the same.

“Well, next time you come back, I’ll have an Orange Crush for you, too, okay?” Mattie says. 

Nicole’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“For my very first customers? Absolutely.” Mattie smiles at her and hands her the tape.

“I’ll be the last, too,” Nicole promises.

Mattie nods. “I’ll hold you to it.” 

Nicole lingers at the door as Wynonna pays for  _ Back in Black _ , eyes sweeping across the store. She’s sure that if she dies and goes to heaven, this is what it would look like: rows and rows of shiny plastic and saturated ribbon tape, all waiting to be listened to.

Wynonna bumps into her, almost knocking her over, and slings an arm across Nicole’s shoulders. “We’re going to walk home,” she tells Curtis. “I thought I saw John Henry’s bicycle outside of Shorty’s.”

Nicole can feel Wynonna’s fingernails digging into her arm as she pulls her towards the door. 

Curtis pauses, wincing like he can already hear Gus in his head, telling him he should have brought those girls home and not run off to play arcade games, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few bills. “Don’t go through all of this,” he warns as he hands it to Nicole.

“Okay!” Wynonna shouts over her shoulder. 

They push out the door and onto the sidewalk and Wynonna stops, eyes drifting towards the pharmacy. She tips her head and a slow smile curls at the corner of her mouth.

“Honey?”

“Don’t call me honey, honey,” Nicole mutters. She pauses, her fingers tapping against the cassette in her pocket. 

_ “The road is callin': today is the day.” _

Nicole exhales. “But the first person to the pharmacy gets to be the one who puts the honey on his bike, and the loser has to be the lookout,” she says, breaking into a run before she finishes speaking.

Wynonna screams and chases after her.

 

-

The soft fizzle of carbonation shakes Nicole out of the song she’s listening to. She pulls one ear of the headphones she’s wearing down just as a cold can of Orange Crush is pushed under her nose. Nicole stares at it for a moment before she looks up at Waverly and smiles.

“What’s that for?”

Waverly shrugs. “If you don’t want it, I can-”

Nicole snatches it out of her hand, the soda splashing out of the small opening and over Nicole’s hand. She licks the drops up before they hit the floor and she grins.

Waverly wrinkles her nose. “Barf me out.” She sits down next to Nicole at the small desk Mattie set up by the register. She put a small table top radio on it with a tape deck and a few pairs of headphones.  _ Pick one of the used tapes and have a listen _ , she’d told Nicole.  _ A good idea, right? _

It was a good idea. Nicole could listen to anything on the back table by the stock room, and decide if there was a song she liked or a band she wanted to hear more of. Some of the tapes were donated by people Mattie knew, from all around Canada. Others were ones she picked up in thrift stores in the province and she wasn’t sure if they worked.

Waverly picks up the case of the tape Nicole is listening to now, frowning. “The Cars,” she reads.

“I like ‘It’s All I Can Do’ the best,” Nicole offers. “So far,” she adds. She lifts the headphones up off her head. “Want to listen?”

“How?” Waverly asks, leaning in. 

Nicole turns the headphones over, so the speaker is between them, and leans in. “Like this.” She looks down at the speaker and then back up at Waverly a few times until Waverly rolls her eyes and leans towards her. Her hair falls into Nicole’s eyes and she huffs, blowing it out of her face.

Waverly laughs and presses closer. 

“ _ One too many times, I fell over you. Once in a shadow, I finally grew; and once in a night, I dreamed you were there. I cancelled my flight from going nowhere. It's all I can do to keep waiting for you _ ,” Benjamin Orr sings. 

“Think you’ll get this tape?” Waverly asks quietly. Nicole sees the words more than she hears them, the shape of her mouth moving slowly. “Or do you already have it?”

Nicole shakes her head slowly. Waverly is so close, and they’re not even playing Cops and Robbers right now, hiding under the porch of the Holliday house while John Henry spends all of his searching time talking to Wynonna about some cowboy movie he just watched.

“I don’t have this one yet,” she breathes back.

She has a ton of cassettes now, in a small wooden box Curtis gave her. It’s in her room, in the space between her dresser and the wall. She only hid it because Nathan broke the Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em robot toy Nicole got for her last birthday, the one she bought with the money her mom gave her in between shifts, and she didn’t trust him not to break her tapes, too. She has  _ Don’t Look Back _ ,  _ Hi Infidelity, Van Halen II _ , and she even picked up  _ Permanent Waves _ . 

Mattie found her an old Walkman and brought it in for her. She gave it to Rosita, in Waverly’s class, and Rosita had it fixed by recess. At night, when she hears her mom turn off the television and climb the stairs and shut her bedroom door, Nicole will climb out of bed. She tiptoes to her desk and pulls out a tape and slides it into her Walkman, laying under her covers with the headphones around her neck so she can hear if anyone gets up.

She probably won’t get in trouble. Her dad would be mad about it, maybe, but her mom is too tired from working overtime that she wouldn’t even notice. She still keeps it a secret, hiding away so that she can listen to the music on her own. It’s  _ hers, _ and she doesn’t want anyone to take that away from her.

“Keep on Loving You” came on a few nights ago, and Nicole’s stomach had twisted like it does right before she’s about to jump into the deep end of the community swimming pool.

_ Music means everything to us _ , Curtis had said.

She’s still trying to figure out what  _ everything _ means. 

“I’m going to go see if Wynonna is staying,” Waverly says quietly, the song fading out.

Nicole blinks. “Wynonna.”

Waverly pokes her in the side. “Wynonna. Over there, remember?” She points towards the new cassettes rack, where Mattie puts all the cassettes that just came out.

Nicole looks across the shop and nods slowly. “Wynonna,” she repeats. She blinks again and straightens up. “Right, Wynonna.”

“It’s time to go back to The Patch,” Waverly says, eyes narrowed as she looks at Nicole. “Gus said be back by 11.”

“Right,” Nicole says, the conversation coming back to her. “But Wynonna can stay.”

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Waverly stresses. “But I want to go.”

Nicole pushes out her lower lip. “Not yet, please.”

Waverly opens her mouth to say something but Nicole rushes. 

“Or maybe  _ you _ can go back to The Patch, and we can stay here.”

“Gus said we  _ all _ -”

“I’ll keep an eye on Wynonna,” Nicole promises. She points to Wynonna. “She’s not even doing anything bad.” Nicole winces when Wynonna knocks over a stack of magazines. “Nothing  _ seriously _ bad,” she corrects. She pushes out her lower lip when Waverly looks like she’s going to say no. “I just want to listen to the  _ whole _ tape.”

“So buy it,” Waverly argues.

“ _ Please _ ,” Nicole pleads.

Waverly sighs. “Fine. But if she yells at me-”

“Just the rest of the tape,” Nicole promises. She holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a Boy Scout,” Waverly says, frowning.

“But I could be,” Nicole fires back.

Waverly rolls her eyes and stops at the counter on her way out the door, saying goodbye to Mattie. The small bell above the door chimes as she leaves, and Wynonna grins,  _ whooping _ heavily. She turns in the big window and flashes a thumbs up sign. Nicole frowns as the door opens and John Henry slips in, giving her a sheepish smile from under the brim of his too-big cowboy hat. He tips it clumsily in her direction and joins Wynonna at the magazine rack, immediately pulling down an issue of  _ Rolling Stone _ and opening it to read.

Nicole sighs and goes to pull her headphones back up on her ears. If John Henry and Wynonna want to look at pictures in magazines, she doesn’t care. _But Waverly_ _would_ , she thinks. She rests the speaker caps on her ears and goes to reach for the play button, pausing.

The voice over the speaker is smooth and clear and like nothing Nicole has ever heard before.

“Who is this?” Nicole asks.

Mattie looks up from the magazine she’s thumbing through. “What?”

Nicole points up at the speaker. “Who is this?”

“Dobie Gray,” Mattie says. She picks up a cassette case and slides it across the counter to Nicole. “One of the best.”

Nicole picks up the cassette, staring down at the man on the cover. “I like this song,” she says.

“It’s ‘L.A. Lady’ right now,” Mattie says. “But if you like this one, you’d love the title track.” She leans over towards the stereo and presses ‘eject’, popping the tape out and turning it over. She slides it back into the deck and hits ‘rewind’ as the tape  _ whirrs _ . 

“‘Drift Away’,” Nicole reads.

“Your Uncle Curtis loves this song,” Mattie says.

Nicole feels her face flush. “Oh, he’s not-” She cuts herself off. “I’m not-”

Mattie narrows her eyes, peering down at her. “Aren’t you?” She winks at Nicole.

Nicole looks down, toeing the new mat Mattie put in front of the counter. It’s shaped like a vinyl record and has ‘Mattie’s Music Forge’ written across it in cursive letters. 

The tape clicks in the deck and Mattie presses ‘play.’ There’s a few moments of silence as the ribbon catches and spins, and Nicole is about to tell her not to worry, she doesn’t really need to hear the song - there’s a Queen tape she wanted to listen to because she thinks she likes them, but Mattie is already nodding along to the scratching from the speaker as the tape starts and the slide guitar kicks in. 

“Oh, hey,” Mattie says suddenly. “We’re getting a new shipment next week. I put in a special order for that Rick Springfield tape you wanted.”

Nicole barely hears her, too focused on the speaker.

_ “Day after day I'm more confused. Yet I look for the light in the pouring rain. _ ”

Dobie Gray’s voice hits her in the stomach like drinking something hot on a cold day. It warms her from the inside out, but her arms have goosebumps.

“ _ You know that's a game that I hate to lose. I'm feelin' the strain, ain't it a shame. Oh, give me the beat boys, and free my soul, I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. Oh, give me the beat boys, and free my soul, I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. _ ”

Her eyes close and she stands in place, the tips of her fingers brushing against a row of tapes on the counter. Her feet feel stuck to the floor, but she doesn’t  _ want _ to move. 

“ _ Beginning to think that I'm wastin' time. I don't understand the things I do. The world outside looks so unkind, so I'm countin' on you to carry me through. _ ”

Somethin bubbles up in her chest, pounding like a drum kit in her lungs. It’s hard to swallow, but she’s not worried. The tips of her fingers tingle and her ears feel like their fizzing. 

_ “And when my mind is free, you know a melody can move me. And when I'm feelin' blue, the guitar's comin' through to soothe me. Thanks for the joy that you've given me. I want you to know I believe in your song: rhythm and rhyme and harmony. You help me along, makin' me strong.” _

Her eyes snap open.  _ Makin’ me strong _ , she thinks again.

She thinks about her  _ Don’t Look Back _ album and the small collection she’s building in secret; how it’s easier to sleep at night when her Walkman is under her pillow and her hand is curled around a cassette case. She thinks about how she heard ‘Can’t Stand Losing You’ by The Police and understood why all of those Blue Devils were sad about Ian Curtis dying. She thinks about how her favorite thing to do is put on a cassette and drive in Curtis’s truck with the windows down, hanging out of them until she can’t breathe. 

_ “I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away.” _

She suddenly understands what Curtis means; what  _ everything _ is.

It’s the  _ music _ .

The  _ music _ is everything.

 

-

There’s a hundred bicycles outside of Mattie’s, spread out on the sidewalk haphazardly. Nicole frowns as they ride up and leave their bikes against the side of the building. She recognizes a few of the other ones:  Champ’s, John Henry’s, and the York brothers’ matching bikes.

“Red alert,” Wynonna mutters as they push through the door. There’s a sea of red and blue bandanas in the shop. Nicole spots Wyatt and Virgil Aper, John Henry at their side. Jimmy Byers is across the room from them, scowling in their direction.

“Why don’t we like the Revenants?” Nicole asks, leaning into Wynonna’s side.

“Because John Henry says they’re-”

“Oh, so you do talk,” someone says loudly behind them.

Nicole turns, her hands clenched into fists as she stares Tucker Gardner down. “Go away.”

“Or what?” Tucker presses. “You’ll hit me again?”

“Yes,” Nicole spits. She takes a step forward and grins when he moves back slightly. “So get bent.”

Tucker’s eyes widen. “That’s not-”

“Oh, get lost, Tucker,” Wynonna says loudly. She takes a giant step towards him and bares her teeth. “Or I’ll finish what Nicole started.”

“I’ll tell my dad,” Tucker hisses. His eyes flash, and a wicked smile grows on his face. “You can’t tell yours, though, can you?”

A shadow looms over Tucker. “Problem?”

Tucker turns, backing up into Wynonna’s favorite rack of magazines. “N-no,” he stutters.

Wyatt Aper narrows his eyes and looks down at Tucker. “Then you better get a move on, boy.”

Tucker turns and stumbles over his feet, but doesn’t stop until he’s disappeared around the corner, and the crowd pushing towards the back of the shop swallows up the only angle she has to watch him go.

“Thanks,” Wynonna says shyly.

Wyatt smiles widely at them. “It was no bother. Doc said he’s bothering you a lot.”

“ _ Doc _ ,” Nicole mouths at Wynonna.

Wynonna ignores her. “He picks on my little sister,” she tells Wyatt.

Wyatt’s smile fades. “Well, that’s not very nice of him.” His eyes flash and something in Nicole’s stomach goes a little cold. “Next time I see him, I’ll-”

“It’s fine,” Nicole says quickly. “I punched him once, and I can do it again.” She puffs out her chest, just like she remembers her dad doing after he knocked Nathan in the cheek by accident. 

Wyatt’s eyes soften. “You’re Nathan’s little sister, aren’t you?”

Nicole nods wordlessly.

Wyatt nods back at her. “He’s a good kid. Stays out of trouble.”

Nicole wants to tell Wyatt about Jimmy Byers, and how he flushed Nathan’s homework down the toilet at the end of the school year, but that gleam in his eye is a little scary. John Henry thinks he’s the bee’s knees, but Nicole’s dad had the same look in his eyes, and now he’s gone, so she doesn’t trust it. Not yet. Still, she knows Wyatt saved her from getting tossed out of Mattie’s, and after eleven weeks, this is her second favorite place in the world.

The first is The Patch.

Wyatt smiles at her again. “Want to come watch with us?”

Nicole frowns. “Watch what?”

Wyatt’s smile stretches wider across his face. “Mattie got some televisions for the back couches. There’s a new show on today.”

Wynonna grabs her arm. “Come on, Nicole,” she urges.

Wyatt pushes through the crowd and Nicole watches in awe as it parts for him. She follows in the slipstream, Wynonna pulling her along, until they’re at the front of the crowd. They’re standing in front of five televisions, all tuned into the same channel. 

“And we’re back with MTV, Music Television. Next up is a repeat of our first music video to air, ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’,” the announcer says.

Someone cheers, and Nicole frowns as she looks over and notices Waverly, jumping up and down with Chrissy. 

_ “I heard you on the wireless back in fifty-two, lying awake, intent at tuning in on you. If I was young, it didn't stop you coming through.” _

A man is singing in a sticky rhythm, eyes hidden behind his clunky sunglasses. There’s neon on the screen, but it’s not flickering; it’s just there. Two girls in weird dresses sing ‘ _ Oh a oh _ ’ before it cuts to a man with hair like hers, tapping on a keyboard.

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “What is this?”

Wyatt grins. “Music Television. It’s the future of music.”

“No it’s not,” Nicole says quickly. She looks back at the tables, the rows of tapes. There’s no one huddling around the new releases, even though Journey’s  _ Escape _ came out this week. Instead, everyone is pressing into the small lounge space, staring at the television.

“It’s not even a good song,” she mutters.

No one hears her, too focused on the screen. Nicole watches Wynonna’s face, eyes wide in delight, for a long moment before she peels off to the side and slips out of the crowd, trailing through the new arrivals section Mattie has, lined with Christmas tree lights around the whole table. 

There is it,  _ Working Class Dog. _ She picks it up carefully, turning it over in her hands. There’s a dog on the front in a collared shirt and she laughs, turning to show it to Wynonna.

But Wynonna is still in front of the television screen, swaying to that song Nicole doesn’t understand. Waverly is dancing, too, with Chrissy and Rosita. She thinks she might even see Jeremy with them, in a too-big dress shirt. 

_ That’s not music _ , she thinks. 

Nicole scowls and storms to the counter, pushing her tape across it towards Mattie and slamming a few bills down next to it.

Mattie takes the money, eyes narrowed as she looks Nicole up and down. “You okay?”

“What is this stuff?” Nicole asks angrily. She hooks her thumb over her shoulder at the televisions. “I don’t get it, and this song  _ sucks _ .”

Mattie smiles at her, leaning across the counter. “Welcome to the club, kid.”

“The club?” Nicole asks. She looks back over her shoulder at the crowd in front of the television.

“The ‘I’d Rather Be Listening to Music’ club,” Mattie explains. She sighs. “I don’t like this program any more than you do, but it’ll bring people in, and that’s what I need to keep this shop running.”

“I understand,” Nicole says. She leans her elbows on the counter, her toes burning a little because she has to stretch up to do it. “It’s just dumb.”

“Totally dumb,” Mattie echoes.

Nicole sighs.

Mattie smiles hopefully. “At least you finally got your copy of  _ Working Class Dog _ .”

“I know,” Nicole says, smiling just a little. “I’ve been waiting for forever.”

“Forever is not a few months,” Mattie points out.

“Feels like it,” Nicole mutters. She looks at the crowd again and scowls. Wynonna is still whispering fiercely into John Henry’s ear. Waverly is still dancing, jumping and bouncing. Champ and the York brothers are circled up near the couch, their heads bobbing. She looks back at Mattie. “Do you still have that Dobie Gray tape?”

Mattie nods and reaches under the counter, sliding the cassette across the top. She grabs the Walkman she keeps next to the stereo and passes it to Nicole. “Want a Crush?”

Nicole nods gratefully and waits for Mattie to pull a soda can up from the small refrigerator at her feet. She passes it to Nicole with a small nod. Nicole pulls the tab and feels the tension in her shoulders start to fade. She slides the cassette into the Walkman, leaving the case on the counter with Mattie, and she hooks the Walkman to her pocket. She pulls the headphones on, the caps muffling the sound of the television and the kids talking. She presses play, and listens as the tape starts, the heavy silence filling her ears. 

She picks up the can of Orange Crush and cradles it in one hand, the other drifting along the rows of cassettes. She touches each one, trying to tell them:  _ I know you’re here. You matter to me _ .

“ _ Day after day, I'm more confused, yet I look for the light in the pouring rain _ ,” Dobie Gray sings.

She doesn’t care what’s on the television. She doesn’t care if video killed the radio star or whatever else that weird band with the weird sunglasses is singing about. 

“ _ You know that's a game that I hate to lose. I'm feelin' the strain, ain't it a shame _ .”

This is what matters. Curtis said that music was everything, but it’s  _ this _ kind of music: the scratch of Side B and the hum of a tape ribbon running through the spools. This is the thing that’s important.

_ “Oh, give me the beat boys, and free my soul. I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away.” _

She moves up and down the rows, taking in tape after tape and trying to commit them all to memory. She can feel the slide guitar in her stomach, Dobie’s voice steady in her ear, and the rest of it fades away like a bad dream.

There’s no music on the television, no Champ smiling at Waverly when he thinks no one is looking. There’s no Waverly dancing the same way to the television as she does when Curtis puts on Fleetwood Mac. There’s no Wynonna, pointing excitedly at the television screen, or John Henry nodding along.

There’s only the music in her ears, and a cold can of Orange Crush in her hand, and it’s more than enough; it’s  _ everything _ .

_ “Oh, give me the beat boys, and free my soul. I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. Drift away…” _


End file.
